


Nightlight

by undun



Series: Need You Now [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg says Fuck a lot, M/M, Mycroft folds his clothes, Mycroft is accidentally... caring, Mycroft is accidentally... uncaring, bad cockney accent, lets slap him, mystrade, on his bum, tipsy Greg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 22:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13866873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undun/pseuds/undun
Summary: As usual, this wouldn’t be readable without beta work by the Lovely Luthien. Artisan cushions and edible candles to you, my darling!





	Nightlight

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, this wouldn’t be readable without beta work by the Lovely Luthien. Artisan cushions and edible candles to you, my darling!

Greg was slightly more than tipsy. It made him a touch wistful, truth be told. He’d drunk too much at Sherlock’s flat while celebrating the news of John and Mary’s imminent wedding. Champagne made him stupidly sentimental, and he always forgot until after he’d consumed too damn much of the stuff.

As he walked away from Baker Street, he automatically scanned the crowd of commuters and shoppers — a habit honed while walking the beat as a proby back in the ancient past. His eyes lingered on couples walking together and he tried to smother his tired smile.

Holding hands. It had been so long since he’d taken a walk with someone, a partner — a _lover_ , and held their hand in his. He’d been told in the past that he had ‘big, strong hands’, that he’d made his partner feel safe. It had been marvellous to have someone think of him that way. He sighed as he reached the end of the street and turned left, heading for the tube, or a cab, whichever came first. He needed to stop these treacherous thoughts, he didn’t need a dose of maudlin and morose right now. He needed something…

Just… something.

A black jaguar pulled up alongside Greg, engine purring expensively, and a darkly-tinted window rolled down. Greg stopped, looking in to see Mycroft ensconced in the far corner, gazing back at him with a sardonic raise of his eyebrow. He looked both amused and put-upon.

Greg leant in towards the open window. “Are you checking up on me, Mister Holmes?” he queried with a very lopsided grin.

“That would depend, Inspector, on whether you required someone to check up on you.”

Greg held back a giggle and responded, as close to deadpan as he could get with a skinful of champagne. “And that, Mister Holmes, would depend on who was doing the checking.” He wriggled his eyebrows.

Yeah, very suave, Lestrade — very cool, he thought to himself.

Mycroft huffed. “Get in, you bloody fool of a man.”

Greg clambered into the car obediently. He didn’t fasten his seatbelt, however,  
because the evening’s celebration had left him yearning. And here was Mycroft, making it obvious Greg needed contact. Connection. Affection. Just… Mycroft, really. He slid over the expensive leather seat and, heedless of the lack of partition, and privacy, between front and back seats (Mycroft was apparently slumming tonight), Greg began a sloppy attack on Mycroft’s neck. What little was accessible, anyway.

“What the—” Mycroft squawked and jerked his head back. “Gregory, stop!”

“What’s up? Just wanted lil’ kiss, tha’s all,” Greg explained in a perfectly reasonable tone.

“Oh, stop whining, you ninny. You can bloody wait until we get home,” Mycroft protested.

Greg gazed at him in complete adoration. Mycroft said they were going home. Like Greg’s poxy flat was ‘home’ for them both. He couldn’t stop his smile if his life had depended on it.

Mycroft sent him a steely glare.

“Stop that, you fatuous creature. And put your damn seatbelt on!”

Greg complied, all the while grinning at his wonderful, sexy lover.

Mycroft sighed gustily and turned to look out the window. His reflection smirked back at him.

Greg fell asleep.

~~~^~~~

Greg got his key in the lock on the fourth try and shoved through the door, stepping back to allow Mycroft to enter behind him.

Mycroft moved past him and stopped to hook his umbrella over the back of a kitchen stool. Greg yawned, scratched his head and asked, “are you staying tonight, or will Roger be picking you up later?”

Mycroft’s head swung around and he stared intently at him. “How the devil do you know my driver’s name?”

“Oh.” Greg blinked slowly. “Ah, I suppose I must have asked him?” He stifled another yawn.

“When?”

“I dunno, Mycroft. Can’t remember. Is it a secret?” Greg frowned and rubbed his chin. Stubble. Scratchy.

“No, it’s not a bloody secret. It’s just unusual for my employees to volunteer personal details,” Mycroft explained. He straightened and moved over to stand closely in front of Greg.

“You look rather disreputable, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft commented archly. He flicked at Greg’s wrinkled and loosened tie, narrowing his eyes in disapproval. “And you are… redolent,” he added, leaning in to inhale against Greg’s neck.

Greg’s skin erupted in goosebumps and his heart rate thumped double-time. He was suddenly very awake.

“It’s been a long day, Mister Holmes,” Greg fell into the banter without thinking. “I’m sorry if you find me less than appealing at the moment,” he added, trailing into a soft moan as Mycroft’s lips met the skin at the corner of his jaw.

Mycroft lifted his head slightly to murmur into Greg’s ear. “Oh, I didn’t say you were unappealing, Inspector.”

Greg shivered.

“Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact,” Mycroft continued, moving Greg’s shirt collar and sucking a bruise into the exposed skin. At the same time he pushed until Greg was flush against the wall and placed a firm, trouser-clad thigh in between Greg’s legs.

“Ohh, fuck!” Greg gripped Mycroft’s hips and pulled him closer, letting out a needy whine that in other circumstances would be completely undignified.

“Is there something you need, Detective Inspector?”

“Ohhh, yeah,” Greg answered, biting his lip. “Your bare arse, for a start!” So saying he grabbed Mycroft’s well-dressed buttocks in both hands and squeezed. Mycroft’s breath hitched and Greg happily followed it with his mouth, nipping at Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft pulled away to say, “I believe a bed would be of use right now.”

“Lucky for us I had one prepared earlier,” Greg responded, grabbing Mycroft’s hand and pulling him towards his bedroom, pausing only to throw his keys in the general direction of the kitchen counter. They hit the floor with a clatter but Greg was already down the hall with Mycroft in tow.

He really, really needed Mycroft undressed and in his bed right now.

In the doorway he reached a hand to slap the light on, missed completely and kept moving. Who needs light anyway.

He let go of Mycroft to haul off his own coat and scrabble out of his shoes. Greg swore at the tangle of sleeves and laces, everything clinging to him when he wanted it gone!

“Gregory, calm down! You’ll injure yourself,” Mycroft admonished.

Greg glanced up, seeing Mycroft easily ridding himself of his many layers and folding them. _Folding, for fuck’s sake! How the hell does he do that?_

Greg stopped struggling and peered at Mycroft in the dim light from the hallway. “Sometimes I’m not sure what planet you’re from.”

Mycroft smiled serenely and moved to assist Greg’s efforts to wriggle free of his sleeves. As soon as he could, Greg reached out and stroked over the warm expanse of Mycroft’s chest and shoulders. “Yeah,” he sighed in satisfaction, closing his eyes for a few seconds just to _feel_.

Mycroft’s hands rested on Greg’s hips and Greg opened his eyes to see Mycroft regarding him with puzzled amusement. “Whatever do you see in me?”

“You’re joking,” Greg said with raised eyebrows, his chest tightening. He wanted to belt anyone who had ever seen fit to criticise Mycroft’s looks — what the hell could they’ve been thinking? He put a hand behind Mycroft’s neck and pulled him into an urgent kiss. “You have to be,” he insisted, between nips at Mycroft’s jaw and neck, “fucking joking.” He stepped back slightly, his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, staring at him. “Just look at you,” he added with a quick shake of his head, listing to the side with a moment of dizziness. _No more champagne — never again._

Mycroft glanced down and sighed. “I do see it everyday, you realise.”

“You see but you don’t observe!” Greg grinned.

“Please. Do not invoke Sherlock whilst we are in the bedroom.”

“Yeah, okay — fair point,” Greg agreed, laughing. He snuck a hand down to palm against Mycroft’s trouser-covered crotch. It pressed immediately into his hand.

“That’s a bit sexy,” Greg husked, snatching at Mycroft’s neck again, pulling him down to lick into his mouth. Mycroft responded with a low moan, moving his hips forwards and back into Greg’s busy hand.

Mycroft groped around Greg’s waist until he discovered Greg’s belt buckle, then made very quick work of undoing it and pushing his trousers down. He moved his mouth away from Greg’s far enough instruct, “Feet, Gregory.”

Greg opened his eyes. “Hm?”

Mycroft dipped his head, looking at the rumpled trousers around Greg’s ankles.

“Oh!” Greg stepped out of them, dropping his boxers as well. He stood grinning at Mycroft in nothing but his socks. He got a withering stare.

“It is manifestly unjust that you can make that ensemble look desperately appealing,” Mycroft pronounced.

“Come ‘ere, you git,” Greg said, pulling Mycroft closer by the waistband of his perfectly tailored trousers. He fiddled for a second with the belt buckle and sighed happily as he unthreaded it from the loops, sliding the zipper carefully down over Mycroft’s very prominent prick.

“Is this for me?” Greg asked, giving Mycroft a dirty smile, cupping and squeezing lightly with one hand while he got rid of Mycroft’s pants with the other.

Mycroft moaned softly and dropped his head into the crook of Greg’s neck. “I’m sure we could negotiate some timeshare arrangement,” he answered breathlessly.

“Well, I’m blocking off the next hour if that’s okay with you.” Greg carefully walked Mycroft backwards to the edge of the bed until his knees met the mattress and he dropped onto it.

Mycroft looked up at Greg with half-closed eyes and a rosy flush on his fair skin. Greg licked his lips. He had a hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with Mycroft’s skin. He took hold of his swelling prick and stroked it a couple of times. Mycroft’s eyes dropped to follow the movement avidly. Greg wanted to see his eyes change colour — he moved over to flick on the bedside lamp. Deep blue-green.

“God. You—” Greg breathed. He climbed onto the bed, moving over Mycroft who slowly lowered himself under Greg’s advance. There was no doubt: Mycroft ceding ground was turn-on like no other. Greg lined up between his legs, pressing hip to hip…

“Holy Jesus—fuck!” Greg swore. Whatever remained of the effects of the champagne he drank earlier burned away in a rocking shock of pleasure. “Oh, god, you feel so good!”

Mycroft clutched at Greg’s arse, his pelvis jolting up into Greg’s urgently. He panted into Greg’s ear and bit down on his ear lobe. “Lubricant?”

Greg nearly came hearing _that_ word, in _that_ voice. _Keep it together, Lestrade._ He pulled the bedside drawer open and scrabbled blindly inside for a second until he found a much-depleted bottle of lube.

“Need some more soon,” he commented, drizzling the bottle over his hand and Mycroft’s erection. Mycroft shuddered.

“That’s very cold, Gregory!” he protested, snatching away the bottle and recapping the lid.

“Sorry, “ Greg said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you warm,” he promised with a leer — there was already a trickle of sweat down the centre of his back.

Greg lowered himself over Mycroft again, sliding his prick along Mycroft’s, his head reeling with the blissfully slippery glide against Mycroft’s skin.

“Mm, so fucking good,” Greg growled. He hitched himself up until he could meet Mycroft’s lips with his own, teasing him with quick nips and licks. “You want to come like this, hm?”

Mycroft panted against Greg’s mouth, his eyes barely-open slits of oceanic blue. He bit his lip and nodded.

“I’m not gonna take long, you sexy bastard,” Greg complained with a strained smile.

“I’m… not certain… ah! — whether I’ve been...ungh… insulted, or complimented?”

“Yeah, both,” Greg affirmed, picking up the pace as Mycroft tilted into his thrusts. His eyes slid shut, intensifying the hot coil forming in his abdomen. “Fuck, fuck, fu—” he stuttered, then all breathing ceased for long seconds, his body straining for release.

“Myc—” Greg wheezed, shuddering powerfully as he crested and came.

“Yes, Gregory, give it to me. Let me see you,” Mycroft crooned softly, his fingernails scratching lightly on Greg’s back. He’d tucked his feet around the back of Greg’s legs, trapping him in place. Mycroft undulated slowly underneath him as Greg drew breath back into his lungs.

Greg let his head fall onto Mycroft’s shoulder. “Christ, that was fucking brilliant.”

Mycroft moved his fingers lightly through Greg’s hair. It was very soothing. Greg hummed in contentment.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself very much,” Mycroft observed with his typical understated amusement.

Greg huffed a laugh. “Looks like I’ve made a mess of you, then,” Greg said, lifting up slightly to look at the smear of ejaculate he’d left on Mycroft’s skin. “I’ll get you a cloth.”

“Stay a minute, would you?”

Mycroft’s pressed him gently back down. Greg smiled. “Yeah, you have some unfinished business for me to attend to?”

“Perhaps— if you have an opening in your schedule?” Mycroft drawled.

It brought Greg up short. _Does he mean?_

”Ah, some special arrangements need more forward planning, maybe… negotiation?”

Mycroft frowned briefly then snorted in amusement. “Oh, I see. You were thinking I wanted to ... _have_... you.”

Greg released a tense breath. “Got the wrong end of the stick, did I?”

Mycroft considered him with a slight smile. “I admit to the idea holding a great deal of appeal,” he began, “...now that I’m considering it.”

Mycroft’s prick pulsed between them. Greg swallowed, nervous and aroused at once.

“However, it’s not what I was suggesting, Gregory.”

“Oh well, um, we could maybe try… that—” Greg was torn. It wasn’t sporting to withhold anal sex from Mycroft when he’d offered it so freely to Greg.

Mycroft led Greg’s face down for a quick kiss. “Only when, or if, you’re ready and willing,” he assured, stroking his thumbs against Greg’s temples.

Greg closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, okay.” He ducked in for another kiss, lingering and using his lips and tongue to get Mycroft to open his mouth. It became urgent and filthy in very short order and Greg snaked a hand down to play with Mycroft’s dick.

Mycroft nipped Greg’s earlobe. “You damned tease, finish me!” he hissed.

Greg eased himself further down, sliding in the slick mess he’d made. Mycroft made an encouraging sound as Greg kissed and licked at his nipples. Greg looked up to see the glimmer of Mycroft’s half-closed eyes regarding him.

“O’ course, Mister ‘Olmes — I don’ leave a job ‘alf done, me!”

~~~^~~~


End file.
